“Yeah, that you’re a coward.”
He clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing as rain falls down his face in streaks he does not attempt to swipe away. “I have to meet Paxton at the gym.”
For the second time in a matter of weeks, my heart struggles to continue beating on its own as I watch him walk back to his truck. He starts the engine, staring at me through the windshield as his wipers rid the rain. I turn away first, refusing to give him my tears when I’ve already given so much.
My teeth chatter as I get into my car, blasting the heat as I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel, a painful stiffness reminding me of seconds in the water as I tried to cut through the net. My forearm burns with a pain I know is solely in my head, reliving the memory and delivering the pain I never felt from the deep cut I inflicted on my own flesh.
My lungs ache as I pull in breaths, reminding myself I’m surrounded by oxygen, sweeping the memories to the recesses of my mind so I can focus on putting my car into gear and reversing before Lincoln can.
Maggie’s on the couch when I step through the front door, my hair and clothes still dripping. “You should change,” she says. “It looks like you jumped back into the ocean. By the way, more flowers came.” She points to a crystal vase filled with pink roses and white hydrangeas.
I unzip my coat, hanging it in the closet, my thoughts a wasteland of memories that has me feeling exhausted. “From Derek?”
“Who else?” she asks. “You should tell him it’s starting to make this place look like a funeral home. We should start giving them to the neighbors or a senior center. There’s nowhere even to put them.”
Dozens of bouquets have arrived, filling every room in our house. Even Dad’s office has been adorned with flowers.
“You want to order some pizza? Mom’s still at work, and Dad’s buried in his office.” Maggie watches me.
Grandpa appears from the garage, a soda in his hand. He’s been here every day since I was discharged. “You know I’m always up for pizza. Rae, you want some breadsticks?” Grandpa and Maggie are the only two people who haven’t held a grudge. Maggie, because she lives by the motto of placing others before herself, and I think Grandpa’s just clinging to relief.
“Sure,” I say.
“Your study group was fast,” Grandpa comments. “I didn’t think you’d be back until late.”
I shake my head. “I had the dates wrong.”
He nods, accepting my lie. “You should get changed. Maggie hijacked the TV and has been watching the Harry Potter movies.”
Grandpa read the Harry Potter books with me when I was eleven. Though he pretended not to be invested in the lives of the students filling Hogwarts, he never hesitated to grab the book we were on when I got home, and he never grumbled about staying late to finish another chapter.
“I’ll be right down.”
They watch me head up the stairs, because though they’re not expressing anger, that hasn’t stopped them from hovering.
I grab flannel pajamas with moose on them Mom had given me last year for Christmas, and shimmy out of my wet jeans and socks, discarding my dry shirt into my hamper before pulling on the warm clothes and tugging a pair of socks onto my constantly cold feet. I hang the wet garments over my shower and return to the living room where Maggie has the third movie ready. She pats the spot next to her, lifting the light blue throw she’s cuddled under.
I sit so close our bodies brush, her heat seeping into my coldness, as she wraps an arm around my shoulder. It’s a maternal move, a role she’s filled on numerous occasions with our seven-year age gap.
“I got my new assignment.” Her words are gentle, a slight lilt at the end like it’s a question. Maggie is actively in the Peace Corps and was sent home after a potential threat cut her time in Nepal short. She was supposed to leave just days after my accident, but she requested emergency family leave, buying us a little more time.
“Where?”
“Nigeria.”
“You’ll be near the ocean.”
Maggie slides her hand over mine, twining our fingers as she nods. “I can ask for more time.”
My sister’s been my sanity since returning home. She breathed life into me as well as a much-needed sense of clarity that I feel the loss of even with her current presence. “It won’t make you leaving any easier.”
“I know.” She presses her lips together, her blue eyes reflecting the same pain I feel in my chest as I wonder how much I can endure in a short period.
“When?” Grandpa asks from his seat in the recliner, his voice gruff with emotions.
“Tuesday.”
Six days.
The blink of an eye.
I grip her hand tighter, leaning into her as she hits play, and the classic and telling music fills the room as I cling to these moments with more force than I did the seconds before the world went dark.
Maggie’s impending departure keeps me from focusing on Lincoln as I spend Friday morning with her, setting up the Halloween decorations in the yard and throughout the house, reliving memories from a decade ago, as well as making new ones.
“What’s going on with Lincoln?” Maggie asks as we sit down for lunch, bowls of reheated spaghetti steaming in front of us.
Her gaze is a gentle prod, reminding me she knows too much to try and deny my feelings toward him.
“He told me he’s not the relationship type.”
Maggie pauses, her lips wobbling. “I hope you called him on his bullshit.”
“He’s never dated anyone.”
“He doesn’t look at you like you’re a booty call,” she says, smothering her pasta noodles in parmesan cheese.
“Does it matter if he says he’s not interested?”
Maggie lifts her gaze from where she’s twirling noodles around her fork to me, her eyes wide and soft with compassion and thought. “I think guys sometimes get scared. I mean, look at Pax. Do you really think he’s still with Candace because he’s in love with her?”
I shake my head.
“No. Of course not. He’s afraid that if he breaks up with her, he’ll be alone. To him, that’s terrifying. Lincoln’s in the other camp where they’re terrified to depend on someone, afraid that they might become vulnerable or get hurt by someone.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Maybe? Or maybe he just realizes his time here is brief, and he wants to hold out for bigger and better things.”
“If that were the case, he wouldn’t have chosen Pax to be his best friend,” she says, making me howl with laughter until I lose my breath with another coughing fit.
Maggie’s gaze doesn’t turn hard like Mom’s does when these occur. Instead, she leans closer, rubbing a hand down my back as she reminds me to take small breaths.
“How long do you think Mom’s going to give me the cold shoulder?” I ask her once I can pull in a full breath.
“You know Mom. She hates it when we get hurt, always has. I remember when you came home in the third grade with a black eye from that boy at the bus stop, and Mom literally lost her shit. She spent the entire night in their room, yelling at everyone in search of retribution. Hell, when I signed up for the Peace Corps, she wouldn’t talk to me for a week. She was just forced to get over it because I was being sent to Nepal so soon.